The Right Thing
by Crittab
Summary: Annie witnesses André cheating on Shirley and tasks Jeff with breaking the news. Jeff helps Shirley deal with the fallout.


**Spoilers/Warnings: **Assumed knowledge of third season. Warning: Detailed descriptions of domestic abuse.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Community, yo

**The Right Thing**

"Jeff, I need to talk to you," was all he heard before being ripped off his course to the study room and dragged into the nearby janitor's closet.

"She-rah," he greeted Annie once he got his bearings.

"Jeff something bad happened," she said in a very sombre tone of voice.

"What's going on?" he asked, immediately concerned.

"Okay, so yesterday I was in Dildopolis when..."

"Hold up. Why were you at Dildopolis?"

"I was just signing some papers with my old landlord—I'm still trying to clear up what happened with Pierce when I moved out."

"But I thought you already had that all sorted out. Is that jerk still trying to get more money out of you?"

"No, he's just... wait... never mind that, that's not what we're talking about here."

"Okay, then what are we talking about?"

"Alright, so I was at Dildopolis, right?"

"Yes, that's been established."

"Right, okay, and so I'm standing at the register with my old landlord when the bell rings and someone comes in."

"Into Dildopolis?"

"Yes! Aren't you listening?"

"I think so?"

"Ugh, Jeff, would you pay attention, please? This is important."

"Okay, fine. I'm sorry. It's just hard to concentrate when the main theme of the conversation is _Dildopolis._ So someone walked in?"

"Yes! And out of the corner of my eye I could see that it was..."

"Jesus?"

"Jeff!"

"Sorry."

"André."

"What?"

"André, Jeff. It was André. As in Shirley's husband, André."

"Okay..."

"And he wasn't alone."

"...okay."

"He was with another woman." Jeff struggled to take in this information, turning it over and over in his head before responding.

"Okay, let's not jump to conclusions. There might be a good reason for why André was at a...sex shop... with someone other than Shirley," he said, attempting to be the voice of reason in spite of the faint rage that was building inside of him. "Maybe he was buying a gift for her."

"That's what I thought, and then they started kissing." Jeff grimaced.

"Kissing... how..."

"Seriously Jeff? KISSING kissing. Like making out, necking, swapping spit, tongue wrestling, tonsil hockey..."

"Okay, okay, fine... I was just looking for an alternative here to Shirley's husband cheating on her. Again."

"Well, there isn't one. And I even have proof," she said, pulling her cell phone out of her bag.

"Tell me you didn't take a picture of it."

"Of course I took a picture of it! I watch _Law and Order_, I know how this evidence stuff works." She thrust the phone in Jeff's direction, forcing him to view the unmistakable photo of André making out with another woman.

"Well, shit," he said after a moment. Annie sighed deeply and tucked the phone back into her bag.

"Yea," she dropped her head into her hands. "God, Jeff. I don't know what to do right now."

"Well, you have to tell Shirley." She looked up at him, alarmed.

"I can't tell Shirley!"

"What? Why not?"

"Because I'm a crier, Jeff. I'm not mentally equipped to ruin someone's life!"

"But she has to know."

"Yes, yes she does... which is why you need to tell her."

"What?"

"Yes, you're good at this stuff. You don't cry, you don't beat around the bush, and you don't have an innate need to please people."

"Why can't you get someone else to do it? Like Britta."

"Britta? No way. She'll britta it for sure."

"That's true."

"Please, Jeff. You've got to do this. You're the only person who will be able to tell Shirley without making it worse." Jeff let out a deep breath, defeated.

"Fine. Send me that picture, would you?"

"What? Why?"

"Because I have a feeling Shirley's gonna need to see it."

* * *

After his conversation with Annie, Jeff and the younger woman had gone to the study room for their regularly scheduled meeting. He tried to act normal, in spite of the nervousness and slight dread nagging in his gut. Annie might think he was mentally prepared to tell Shirley the news, but not even years of selling drunks and invalids to juries could truly make him ready for this. Shirley was one of his best friends, and she had only just gotten her footing back with André after all that had gone down with him and that stripper.

Jeff wondered who this new woman was. Maybe she was the same stripper... maybe a different stripper. For some reason, the only conclusion he was coming to was that she had to be a stripper—or a prostitute, or someone else with questionable, if non-existent morals, who had no qualms with ruining a family unit.

Of course, that was unfair to strippers and hookers. The real problem here was _André_.

He knew the moment he saw André that he wasn't good enough for Shirley—that he never would be. The only thing that kept him from saying so (despite his sacred personal rule of never interfering in other people's affairs), was that she seemed _so happy_. At the time, Jeff couldn't bring himself to ruin this for Shirley— Britta was the only ruiner in the group

But now he had to do it. Annie was right, Shirley didn't need someone who was going to cry and, thus, make it about themselves, nor did she need someone who would judge her for getting back together with André in the first place. Jeff didn't think he was good for much, but he was good at not passing judgement. Goodness knows, he'd made enough mistakes in his life to give a free pass to just about anyone.

His train of rambling thoughts came to a fairly abrupt halt when Britta announced she was leaving. He hadn't been paying attention, but apparently Pierce had said something vaguely misogynistic, blah, blah, blah, yadda, yadda, and Britta had decided it was time for their study period to end. He didn't miss the meaningful look Annie gave to him as she began to gather her things.

"Hey Shirley," he said, catching the woman just as she hitched her massive purse over her shoulder. "Can I talk to you for a sec?" he looked around at the four other sets of questioning eyes peering in his direction. "Alone..."

"...okay," Shirley replied, clearly confused by this new development. Jeff had the decency to feel slightly ashamed that she was so surprised he wanted to talk to her. They'd been friends for almost three years, but he could count on one hand the number of side adventures he'd had with this particular study group member.

The rest of the group, begrudgingly, took the hint and cleared out. Jeff gestured for Shirley to retake her seat, and then stood himself, coming to settle next to her in Pierce's chair.

"What's going on, Jeffrey? You don't look well." Shirley said, looking a little concerned. Jeff swallowed down a small wave of nausea and clasped his hands in his lap to keep them from showing just how nervous he was.

"I, uh... I have to tell you something, Shirley. Something pretty bad." Her expression changed from concerned to sceptical.

"What did you do?"

"Why do you assume I did something?" he asked, slightly (but not really) offended. She gave him her, "Bitch, please," face, and Jeff took the hint. "Okay, stupid question... but I didn't do anything."

"Then what...?" she pressed him to continue.

"Shirley... I don't really know how to tell you this, so I'm just going to say it." He took a steadying breath before continuing. "I think André is having an affair."

Shirley's brow furrowed. "Why do you say that?"

"Annie saw him in Dildopolis with another woman... they were pretty, um... handsy." He watched the woman turn this information over in her mind. He could tell she was trying to explain it away, but not even Shirley "That's Nice" Bennett could hide the dismay that became apparent on her features.

"Well, there could be any number of reasons for that," she tried to reason. "He could have been... looking for a gift for me?" She probably meant it as a statement, but it sounded to Jeff like a question—like she was begging for another option.

"That's what I thought, but then... well... he kissed her."

"I don't believe that," she said quickly, firmly.

"Shirley..."

"Mmm-mm, I don't believe André would do that to me again." Jeff's stomach tightened in knots as he reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone.

"I didn't want to show this to you," he said, scrolling through his messages. Shirley sat stone-still as he brought up the image of André kissing the other woman. He turned it toward her once it filled the screen. Shirley reached over for him to hand her phone. Once he did, she brought it closer to her face, examining the image for what seemed like a very long time to Jeff.

Then her face fell, and Jeff immediately felt like the worst person in the world.

He should have made Annie do this.

Shirley set the phone back on the table before the first tear fell—but once they started, she was powerless to stop them. Jeff felt completely out of his element, so he did the only thing he could think of. He scooted his chair closer to Shirley and reached out, placing a hand on her shoulder, and pulled her to him. Shirley wrapped her arms tightly around his waist while his circled her shoulders.

He could get a new shirt. This one would be pretty messed up by the time Shirley was finished.

It took a little while, but Shirley eventually did calm down enough to extract herself from Jeff's embrace. She dug into her purse and pulled out a tissue, cleaning herself up as well as she could. Jeff sat back quietly, unsure of what to say.

After a while, the silence got to him. He decided to ask the one question that had been nagging him since Annie told him the news earlier that day.

"What are you going to do?" The woman shook her head, eyes downcast, looking sadder than Jeff had ever seen her.

"I don't know," she said in a low tone. "I just need to process this." Jeff nodded his understanding, and followed her lead when she pulled herself out of her chair and grabbed her purse.

"Shirley... I'm so sorry about this," Jeff said once they were prepared to leave. Shirley stopped by the door and turned back to him.

"Me too," she said softly. "Thank you for telling me, Jeff. I know it couldn't have been easy." Jeff closed the gap and hugged her once more, placing a kiss atop her head.

"It's nothing. Just let me know if there's anything I can do." To his surprise, he actually kind of meant it. Shirley gave him a quick squeeze before pulling away and wordlessly leaving the room. Jeff hung back a few minutes, gathering himself.

The feeling that still remained in his gut was exactly why he liked to avoid dealing with people's personal issues. They almost always sucked.

* * *

Hours later, as the school day came to a close, Jeff was on his way out to his Lexus when Shirley caught up with him. She looked 100% more composed than she had when she left him earlier that day, a fact for which Jeff was infinitely grateful.

"Shirley," he greeted. "How you doing?" She frowned.

"I've had better days," she said quietly. "Jeff, could you do something for me?"

"Yea, sure." She took another moment, seeming to re-compose herself.

"I've decided to end it with André tonight—for good this time." Jeff nodded his understanding. "I want you to be there with me."

"Pardon me?" he asked, taken aback by the odd request.

"I really need a friend right now. I'm not asking you to be _right there_ when I do it, but just nearby... like a support system."

"Wouldn't you rather someone more... you know... helpful for that? Like one of the girls? Britta?" Shirley shook her head adamantly.

"Look, I love Britta. I really do. But I don't need another 'gym bag full of nickels' speech. I _know _I made a mistake by taking André back... but right now I just need someone who will hold my hand and tell me I'm doing the right thing by ending this—for me, and for my boys. When I look at our group of friends, the only person that I can see being able to do that without passing judgement is you." Jeff turned this over and over in his head, feeling nauseous once more. "Please, Jeff," she plead.

He knew he couldn't say no.

"Fine," he said softly. "Whatever you need, Shirley." He felt marginally better when his acceptance was met with a small, if still very sad smile.

"Thank you, Jeffrey. You have no idea how much this means to me."

"Don't mention it." He slung an arm over Shirley's shoulder and two walked out into the parking lot to their respective cars, making plans for the evening as they walked.

* * *

Jeff pulled up in front of the Bennett house around 5:45 that evening. André was expected home at six, and Shirley had arranged for the boys to go to her parents' house for the night. She was sitting on the porch swing waiting for him when he arrived.

"You came," she greeted him, seeming surprised at his appearance. Jeff settled onto the swing next to her and threw an arm over her shoulder.

"I told you I'd be here."

"Yea, but I still wasn't sure. I guess I'm having some trust issues today." Jeff frowned and squeezed her.

"You can trust me, Shirley. You can trust all of us. We've got your back." She nodded her understanding.

"Last time I did this... last time André left, he took with him most of our family and friends. I'm guess I'm not used to having a support system all to myself." Jeff's heart hurt at hearing this. Shirley was often one of his more difficult friends, always quick to pass judgement, and occasionally difficult to have fun with because of her aversion to _fun things_. But he'd never really taken much time to get to know _her_, and what hardships she'd faced.

Every once in a while he'd hear a tidbit, and he would realize he was friends with a much stronger person than he could ever hope to become.

"Well," he said, stroking her arm with his thumb. "You've got one now—and we're not going anywhere."

Shirley let out a long, shuddering breath and rested her head on his shoulder.

"Just... tell me I'm doing the right thing," she said softly. Jeff's brow furrowed—it hadn't even occurred to him that there could be another option.

"You're doing the right thing." Shirley pulled away and looked at him. He dropped his arm from her shoulder and took hold of her hand. "Shirley—you're doing the right thing."

"The right thing about what?" a foreign voice broke into their conscious. Both had been so immersed in Shirley's pain that they hadn't noticed André's car pulling into the driveway.

Jeff gave Shirley the most encouraging look her could muster, and squeezed her hand before she pulled herself up.

"I'll wait out here," Jeff said. Shirley nodded and crossed the distance to where André stood in front of the door.

"What's going on, Baby?" he asked. Jeff felt a twinge of hate in his gut at André's demeanor. So _sweet_, so _confident_, the way he always seemed with her. He could see the same anger in Shirley's expression.

"I need to talk to you," she said, gesturing to the door. "Inside." André's expression darkened almost imperceptibly as he looked between her and Jeff.

"What's he doing here?" Shirley pulled the door open and gestured for him to enter.

"Inside, André."

The man cast a confused look back in Jeff's direction, but did what he was told. Shirley turned to look at him before heading inside. Jeff offered what he hoped was a comforting smile, which she took by squaring her shoulders and following André inside, closing the door behind her.

Jeff sat back on the porch swing, feeling wholly out-of-place and unnecessary while he waited out what was probably the worst conversation Shirley had ever had. Part of him wished he could be a fly on the wall, privy to the words being spoken, and maybe even throwing in a few choice words of his own.

He'd only ever hated a few people as much as he hated André in this moment. His father was one, most certainly, but everyone else he'd come across who was a jackass, a liar or a cheater had never actually hurt him personally. In fact, the only other person he could think of that _had_, was Shirley during her 'Big Cheddar' days. He shuddered a little at the thought, forcing himself to remember the post-Foosball truce and the way it had brought them closer together in the end.

From inside the house, Jeff could hear slightly raised, muffled voices. When he heard André's voice overpowering Shirley's, he briefly considered heading in himself, but squashed that impulse. His presence would probably do more harm than good—and he had a feeling that Shirley was more than capable of handling herself, even in the worst of situations.

After what felt like a long, long time, the front door opened once again, and Shirley came back out. She had a tear-stained face, but seemed to have composed herself. She plopped down next to Jeff.

"What happened?" he asked, taking her hand in his. She frowned.

"He denied it—then I told him I'd seen a photo and he got defensive. He blamed me for doing this to our boys again. Can you believe that? After all he's done to our family, to blame _me_ for finally making him leave?" her voice became angrier and angrier as the relived the argument, and with each word, Jeff felt his blood boil.

"Where is he now?"

"He's getting a bag together, and then he's getting out." Jeff squeezed her hand.

"Good." She frowned.

"Jeff?"

"Yea."

"Tell me I'm doing the right thing."

"You're doing the right thing." He believed those words now more than ever.

Just then, André burst through the door, his calm, cool, sweet demeanor replaced with something much more menacing.

"Yea," he huffed. "I get stuck with the 'cheater' label because of some stupid picture, and I'm not supposed to think anything's going on here," he said, gesturing to the pair. Jeff's natural inclination was the punch the guy out for insinuating that about his friend, but Shirley tightened her hold on his hand to keep him where he was.

"Jeff has nothing to do with this, André," Shirley countered.

"Like I give a shit. I only came back because shit dried up with Candy and I had no place to stay." With that, the man tore himself off the porch and raced his car. Shirley and Jeff said nothing as they watched him screech the tires backing out of the driveway, and taking off down the quiet suburban street.

The scene was weirdly reminiscent of one he'd witnessed when he was six years old, sitting on the porch of his family home, watching his dad leave. His mother had come to sit beside him, a large, purple bruise beginning to form around her left eye, tears streaming down her face.

Jeff looked at Shirley and thanked whatever God may exist that things had never gotten that bad for her.

But then he noticed that her self-assured posture had sunken in on itself, and her expression was one of pain and worry.

"I just sent away the father of my children," she said softly, more-so to herself than to Jeff. He knew he had to say something to affirm her decision—that was his role here, after all; to support her and to make her know that she was _doing the right thing_. She'd asked the question so many times that day, but he'd never truly confirmed it for her.

He'd never told anyone the details of his father's abuse and abandonment, but now seemed like the right time.

"Shirley, can I tell you something?" She offered him a quizzical look, but nodded.

"Most of my memories from when I was a young kid involve my dad either being drunk and beating me, or beating my mom, or my mom yelling at him for cheating on her, or him proudly exclaiming that he'd cheated on her—most days were just a variation of those things," he began.

"When he left us, it wasn't because my mom told him to leave. He had come home drunk one day, and he and my mom had gotten in a fight, like usual. But this time it was worse. I could tell by listening to it that it was worse. He was screaming at her about _something_—what it was, I couldn't tell you. I hid in the closet when he started yelling. I always hid there, and he always found me, but for some reason I kept going to that same spot, like it would magically keep him away for me.

"I could hear all kinds of banging and crashes and stuff in the living room where they were arguing. I realized later that he'd broken most of our dishes, which were on the table for supper. And, of course, he was hitting my mom too. At least one of the bangs was her being thrown against the wall.

"And then, like always, the door to the closet opened, and he stood there over me, gigantic and sweaty and reeking of alcohol, and he reached down and grabbed me by the collar of my shirt, pulling me out into the living room where my mom was laying on the floor, her head in her hands, crying. And he said, "Look at what you did to your mother, Jeffrey. This is your fault."

"He never actually explained why it was my fault. He just back handed me and sent me flying. I ended up bashing the back of my head on the corner of the coffee table. I still have the scar, right here," Jeff turned his head and pulled his hair out of the way to show Shirley the small white patch of hairless skin.

"Then what happened?" she asked, morbidly curious about where this story was going. Jeff turned back to her, looking down at where their hands were still joined.

"After that—and you'd think I'd forget this, after all of this time, but I remember everything like it was yesterday—he said, "Fuck this. If I wanted a fucking wife and a kid, I'd have kept fucking your cousin. At least she wasn't a fat bitch." And then he stormed upstairs.

"I crawled over to where my mother was laying and tried to pry her hands away from her face, but she just mumbled for me to go away. So I went outside and I sat down on the porch. I was feeling pretty dizzy and sick from hitting my head—I puked in the garden. I figured Dad would probably beat me up for that too.

"A few minutes later, I heard my mom and dad arguing inside again, but it wasn't long before the door opened and my dad stormed out and got into his car, screeching his tires and he tore away from the house. My mom came to sit next to me. I could see she had a pretty insane black eye starting—it lasted a good three weeks before it was completely gone.

"Anyway, she didn't really say anything. She just cried for a while. I kept expecting my dad to come home and keep doing what he always did—but he didn't. I never saw him again after that night."

"Jeffrey..." Shirley began. Jeff turned himself more fully toward her.

"Do you know why I'm telling you this Shirley?" She shook her head. "It's not because my dad was an asshole, or that he left, because those things are pretty much common knowledge at this point. It's that he _chose_ to leave. It didn't matter that he beat me or beat my mom, or that he was an alcoholic and an asshole... nothing he ever did could make my mom kick him out.

"I remember thinking after all was said and done that I just couldn't believe my mom had let him stay around for so long. And then as I got older, I kept repeating that thought in my head over and over, and before long, I realized I resented my mother for putting me through that. I mean, what the hell does a person have to do for you to kick them out of your life—out of your kid's life?

"And even now, even after I've grown up and learned all about battered woman syndrome, and got information about how impossible it can be for women to get out of abusive relationships, I still find myself slipping back into that mode of thinking every once in a while. My mom, despite how well she's taken care of my for most of my life, will always be the same person who kept me in that house with that man... who let him abuse and insult me on a daily basis.

"So I guess the point—if there is a point to all of this—is that you, Shirley, are a strong woman, and what you've done here is going to mean more to your boys in the long run than if you had kept André around and let him keep treating you this way. Ultimately, _you_ are the person who teaches your kids how to treat you and how to treat women, by _showing_ them how you deserve to be treated.

"Those boys are going to be pissed for a while, and they're going to be sad. But they will not grow up resenting you for this. If anything, they'll respect you more for defining your own worth. You _deserve_ a life full of happiness with someone who will treat you like the incredible person you are. That fact that you kicked André out gives me so much respect for you, Shirley. I can't even explain to you how much I wish my mother had done the same.

"So you did the right thing. And if you have to ask me a hundred more times, I will give you the same answer. Ask me, please, because I want to affirm this for you. You had no choice—this is all you could do for you and for your family. I'm _proud _of you for the way you've handled yourself."

Jeff noticed then the fresh tears falling freely from his friend's eyes. She surged forward once his monologue was complete, wrapping her arms tightly around him and pulling him to her. Jeff reciprocated as best he could, finding strength and comfort in the woman's embrace.

"You're much stronger than we give you credit for, Jeffrey," she mumbled into his ear. Jeff pulled her closer.

"So are you, Shirley." She pulled away enough so she could see his face, and took both of his hands in hers.

"I did the right thing," she said confidently, though her eyes still bore the burden of her sadness. Jeff nodded.

"You did the right thing."

**End**

* * *

_This story has been kicking around in my brain for a while. I really hate André for everything he's done to Shirley, and as a female viewer it really bothers me that Shirley took him back so easily. I wanted to give her an opportunity in fic to really stick it to that asshole._

_Anyway, hope you liked it. Let me know!_


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